Bloodline
by blubs73
Summary: The realization of a dream for a young Tom Paris, brings trouble not only from his domineering father but also from another far more dangerous source.
1. Chapter 1

_**BLOODLINE**_

Disclaimer: 'Star Trek Voyager' and the main characters belong to Paramount.

I'm just playing with them for a little while, before handing them back…unscathed.

Writing fan fiction is just for fun, not for profit.

Background: My first real and enduring love is 'The Invisible Man" - and I am currently working on my 4th I-Man fic - but 'Star Trek Voyager' and 'NCIS" both come in a close second.

Tom Paris and his background, and in particular his relationship with his father, Admiral Owen Paris, fascinates me. This story is just my attempt at a back story.

Summary: The realization of a dream for a young Tom Paris, brings trouble not only from his domineering father but also from another far more dangerous source.

**Prologue**

The hybrid known only as Syrus barely flinched as a series of muffled explosions rocked his ship. A warning siren blared ominously.

All around him was controlled pandemonium as his small crew fought on desperately to save their stricken vessel, but Syrus knew in both his hearts that it was a wasted effort. With an air of calm that belied his seething rage, the alien captain checked the diagnostic data from the helm computer yet again, cursing softly in his native dialect as his worst fears were confirmed

Just to the right and a few paces behind stood his loyal second-in-command, Ortiz, a massively-built Klingon. He shifted nervously while awaiting his captain's orders.

Another of the consoles on the bridge exploded violently amid a spray of sparks and flames, and the unfortunate crewman who had been working closest to it was thrown back with the force of the blast. He now lay moaning in agony on the deck, blackened fingers clutching futilely at his badly burned and bloody face - or what was left of it.

With little more than a cursory glance at the injured man, Syrus dispassionately stepped over the prone form to get to another computer terminal, his long scaled fingers with yellowed nails flying over the keypad. Seconds later the view screen displayed the image from the large cargo hold several decks below, revealing row upon row of cylindrical shaped stasis pods.

"Cap'n. If we're going to get to the shuttle we need to do it soon, before full life support fails," Ortiz urged as respectfully as possible, doing his best not to choke on the thick cloying smoke enveloping them. Though a full head taller and broader than his Captain, he was no fool; Syrus's brute strength and murderously volatile temper were legendary.

"Are we sure they'll survive Ortiz?" Syrus asked, narrowing his cat-like amber eyes, the well-defined ridges and mottled skin along his brow and the bridge of his nose creasing in concern.

Ortiz nodded adamantly. "The hold is locked down and airtight captain, and the pods can sustain them for over 50 cycles. More than enough time for us to find another ship, locate and retrieve them. We may lose a few, but most should remain intact."

Syrus gave the view screen one last lingering look. He loathed the thought of abandoning such a precious and valuable cargo, but his ship was in its death throes and he had little choice in the matter. Their run in with a Starfleet patrol vessel had taken its toll, and though they had eventually outrun and then lost their pursuers within a well-timed ion storm, the old craft had taken a heavy battering

Wishing to allay his Captain's concerns further, Ortiz leaned across him to the computer. "As you ordered, we've laid in the course co-ordinates and the auto--pilot and tracking beacon is set. We anticipate that it will impact… here," he pointed at the map now displayed for them. " It's still sparsely populated and an excellent hiding place."

"Well, why are we wasting time?" With a curt decisive nod, Syrus spun on his heels and swept off the bridge heading for the shuttle bay, with Ortiz and the remaining crew hot on his heels.

* * *

**Earth: Southern Hemisphere - Off the eastern coast of Australia.**

The violent electrical storm came from nowhere.

One minute the seas were calm and the wind moderate and then the small fishing boat was being buffeted on all sides by a raging tempest.

A single powerful light cast a ghostly halo around the boat, though visibility was still minimal. Keeping a firm grip on the port rail as they were pounded by yet another large wave, the poacher stared with a mix of concern and puzzlement at the densely clouded heavens as thunder rumbled ominously followed by a brilliant flash and the loud crash of lightening.

"Can you see anything ?" asked the worried teenage boy from the helm.

"No," he growled back at his solitary member of crew. "Try to keep her steady."

He risked a quick glance back at their precious but illegal catch, currently secured mid-deck beneath a large net. A clever entrepreneur could make a lot of credits on the black market - both on and off-world - from the abundant and much-prized sea-life now thriving in these waters, as long as they were prepared to flout the strict environmental laws for this protected zone - which meant playing frequent cat and mouse with the ever vigilant coastal patrol.

"We need to find some shelter…and fast," he advised as he shoved his young partner in crime out of the way to take control at the helm.

"What about the coast guard? If they catch us with…"

He cast the boy an incredulous look. "You really think they're gonna be stupid enough to come out on patrol… in this?"

With a quick adjustment the poacher expertly brought the boat about. There were plenty of small islands and coves scattered all over the region which they could use to ride out the storm. With the help of the scanner it didn't take him long to find one and he had just programmed in the course co-ordinates when a startled yell from the youngster drew his attention.

"What the hell…" the rest of his words were obliterated by a thunderous explosion and an almost blinding light and all at once the air around them crackled and hissed with energy. Then it came. At first a soft droning hum, which increased rapidly until it reached an almost unbearable roaring crescendo as a large space craft suddenly broke through the dense cloud cover and flew right over them, so low that the pair instinctively hit the deck. From their prone positions they watched, fascinated as it hurtled erratically onwards until it nose dived into the water several kilometers away.

"Hold on to something," he shouted, pulling himself unsteadily to his feet and lacing his arms around the helm control. The after shock when it came was violent, and the small vessel was lifted up and almost capsized amid the turbulence.

With their boat still rolling beneath his feet, soaked to the skin now and panting heavily with the exertion, the boy struggled back to the man at the helm.

"What was that?" he asked, with his gaze routed to the horizon,

With his attention locked on the craft as it sank slowly into the churning waters, the older man didn't answer straight away. When he finally turned his mouth was set in a grim line.

"Trouble."


	2. Chapter 2

_**BLOODLINE**_

**Chapter 1**

**Starfleet Academy - San Francisco.**

"Yo, Paris, wait up will ya."

Taking a quick glance back over his shoulder, Tom Paris slowed his pace just enough for his shorter, stockier friend and fellow third-year cadet, Jack Cummings, to catch him up before continuing his manic rush across the campus to his next class. Professor Benton had threatened to put his ass on report if he was late one more time this semester, and _that _would definitely not go down well with his father, the mighty Admiral Owen Paris.

"Can't stop, Jacko." Tom flashed a wry grin as he ran a hand through his blond regulation -cropped hair, raising his padd and jiggling it for emphasis, "An enthralling afternoon of Stellar Cartography awaits."

"I was just wondering if you had plans for the weekend?" Jacko asked hopefully, almost jogging to keep up with his friend. "Me, Vinnie and Costello are thinking about another trip to Vegas, if you're up for it?"

Tom snorted. _As if. _"No can do, buddy. My sister's getting married the day after tomorrow and the family would space me if I didn't show."

Despite the air of casual indifference, Tom actually had no intention of missing the wedding - after all, Kathleen was his favorite sister They might be separated by a six-year age gap but she was his rock, the one person in the entire universe he could confide in, who really understood and helped him to cope with their father's often oppressive control and unrelenting expectations for his only son. When the pressure got too much, Tom ran to Kat. Simple as that.

The fact that her husband-to-be wasn't _Fleet_ got another huge thumbs-up from Tom.

Joel McCreedy was a medic, just like Kat. Oh yeah, the Admiral had made it clear from the start that he was less than thrilled with the match, but he was finally forced to give his blessing when his headstrong and feisty daughter made it clear that she was resolutely determined to marry the person of her choice, and not some up-and-coming Starfleet officer picked from the ranks by her father. Their elder sister Moira had yielded under that pressure and was now in a far-from-perfect marriage with a Lieutenant Commander; a career officer who was rarely home. Only the gods knew where they'd found time to produce two children.

Even though she kept up the pretence of married bliss, Tom wasn't fooled. He could tell by the look in her eyes that it was a sham. And the worst thing about it was that Tom had no doubts whatsoever that the same fate awaited him somewhere down the line. The Admiral controlled every other aspect of his life, so why not that too! The precious blue-blooded Paris lineage had to be protected.

Happy in principal to be an integral part of Kat's big day, Tom just wasn't relishing the rest of it..

After some clever coaxing from their mother - ever the mediator between Owen Paris and his offspring - Kathleen and Joel had surprisingly agreed to the whole lavish wedding thing, which Admiral Paris in turn assumed gave him carte blanche to use as some sort of public relations extravaganza. All of the Starfleet top brass would be there, along with World Council officials and even representatives of the United Federation of Planets. If there was room to squeeze in a few family and friends among the stellar VIPs it would be a miracle.

And Tom knew that his father would parade him around in front of the great and the good like the prized progeny he was.

"Aw, c'mon Tom," Jacko all but bleated. "Vegas won't be the same without you." His mind wandered back wistfully to the groups last legendary trip to the gambling capital of the Alpha Quadrant, when their boisterous antics had almost got them tossed in jail overnight. _Ah, good times_.

Tom came to a halt outside the vast state-of-the-art wing of the Academy where the Stellar Cartography labs were housed, pausing to straighten his cadets uniform and comb his fingers through his hair yet again. Professor Benton was almost as much of a stickler for appearance as his father.

When he was satisfied that he would just about pass inspection, he laid a reassuring hand on his friends shoulder and gave it a squeeze for good measure. "You're just gonna have to get by without me this time," he consoled mock solemnly, amusement dancing in his clear blue eyes.

Turning quickly, Tom sprinted up the steps and paused just as he was about to step through the large glass paneled front entrance. "Oh, and Jacko?" he called out, grinning rakishly over his shoulder.

"What?" came the sullen response.

"Give that cute little red-head from Caesars my love, huh."

* * *

It had been a long and tedious afternoon, and Tom slouched lazily in the back of his father's ground car as it entered through the ornate gates of the family estate and began to weave its way through the majestic acres of lush landscaped gardens to the house itself - a sprawling replica of a 2-story late-21st Century Spanish-colonial style mansion that had been in the Paris family for five generations. The whole estate was nestled on a hilltop, with panoramic and breathtaking views of San Francisco Bay, taking in the iconic Golden Gate Bridge and Starfleet Headquarters off in the distance.

Finding the ground car - complete with stoic staff driver - parked and waiting for him at days end, came as no real surprise to Tom The Admiral's orders had been to come straight home, and the old man was making damn sure his spirited only son didn't get 'distracted' and did just as he was told for once. No fun and games for Tommy boy this weekend that's for sure, he thought wryly as he watched as the familiar scenery rolled by.

Tom was out of the car as soon as it came to a smooth halt alongside the fleet of delivery vehicles currently cluttering the circular driveway. He darted in through the main entrance of the house, keen to make it up the wide curved staircase and to his bedroom before anyone - particularly his father - registered his arrival. If his luck held, then his presence might go unnoticed long enough for him to get out of the restrictive uniform, take a long steaming hot shower and change into something a bit more casual before he was summoned to make nice with the weekend house guests.

The high-collared black and gray tunic was discarded even before the door to his room slid open automatically at Tom's approach, with his gray short-sleeved undershirt coming off next, both items flying across the room to land in an untidy heap on the floor beside the bed. Next he kicked off his boots and unfastened the uniform pants, and with thumbs hooked through the waistband had tugged them and his shorts halfway down over lean hips when a noise - a soft clearing of a throat - froze him in place. When he eventually summoned the courage to glance up, Tom found himself staring into a pair of very amused and very attractive eyes.

For a moment he was temporarily mesmerized by the vision of loveliness standing in the doorway of _his_ bathroom, wrapped in nothing but a big old white fluffy towel. Long dark brown hair piled up casually on her head, with little wispy strands falling loose to her shoulders, where droplets of water from the shower were still evident on her flawless olive skin. Despite the shock of finding a total, half-naked stranger in his room, he still couldn't resist checking out the tall, slender form, with legs that went on forever. Tom swallowed…hard.

And those beautiful dark eyes framed by incredibly long eye lashes appraised him right back.

"So I'm guessing you must be Thomas?" she asked in accented English - French he guessed correctly even in his semi-shocked and semi-naked state.

Tom nodded dumbly.

"The guest quarters weren't ready and you weren't expected home for awhile, so Kat suggested I use your bathroom to freshen up," the young woman smiled and shrugged apologetically. "I hope you don't mind?"

"I…uh…no…it's uh…okay." Tom mentally kicked himself for not being able to string a comprehensive sentence together. _She must think you're a complete dumb ass, Paris _

"I'm Ricki Lefevre by the way."

As he struggled to think of something appropriately profound or bitingly witty as a response, Tom was distracted by soft laughter from behind him.

"Well, I see you two have met. "

Tom did an ungainly spin on his heels, vainly clutching at his pants in an attempt to stop them from falling to his ankles and causing more embarrassment - mainly to himself. From the doorway, Kathleen Paris beamed mischievously at the sight of her blushing baby brother.

"Watcha squirt,." she added before arching an eyebrow and staring deliberately towards his groin area and open pants. "Giving my maid of honor a private viewing of the Paris family jewels, eh!"

With a whoop of delight, Kat sprang forward to envelope Tom in her arms. Pulling back, she planted a huge kiss on his cheek and then cupped his chin in her hands. "Didn't I tell you he was cute, Ricki?"

"I think you may have mentioned it once or twice," came the still amused husky tone.

* * *

"So, Richelle." Ever the stickler for formality, Admiral Owen Paris steadfastly refused to abbreviate names. "I understand from Kathleen that you work with your father!"

To her mind, the Admiral looked slightly ill at ease in his version of casual attire. This powerful man, one of the three most high-ranking officers at Starfleet Command, obviously found it difficult to completely cast off his military persona and relax, even in his own home surrounded by his family.

"Yes, sir I…" Ricki began, only to be distracted by a tousled blond vision darting into the dining room and literally hurtling himself into his customary seat to the Admiral's right - and next to her. Tom glanced warily at the his clearly not amused father and muttered a quick apologetic something, before turning to the rest of the group, grinning disarmingly.

He quickly acknowledged all of the dinner guests; including his elder sister Moira and her husband Lt. Commander Evan Starkey; Kat's fiance Joel and his parents, along with two more of the bridesmaids who had arrived ahead of the wedding rehearsal scheduled for the following day.

Ricki found herself smiling back and losing herself in those vivid blue eyes. Even with the brief amount of time she'd spent with the Paris family so far, it was clear to her that father and son were polar opposites. The Admiral's air of stern authority and aloof formality, a stark contrast to the bundle of life and charismatic energy that was the younger Paris male.

Now dressed more casually in a midnight blue shirt hanging loose over a pair of dark pants, Ricki mused that Kat had done her brother a major disservice by describing him merely as 'cute'. There was no doubt in her mind that Tom Paris was one of the most attractive individuals she had ever met…male or female. He was still very young - late teens or very early twenties at a guess - so whether he fully realized the impact he had on mere mortals was unclear. Though by the way his mother was gazing adoringly at him from across the table to her husband's left, there was obviously one person who told him so often enough.

Tom's hand brushed against Ricki's as he reached over the table to pour himself a large tumbler of water, while his mother dished him up a large portion of her own special recipe southern fried chicken..

"Ricki was just telling us about her work," Miriam Paris explained to her son as she piled food onto his plate. She smiled at the young woman. "It sounds absolutely fascinating."

"It is," she responded just as warmly.

"Ricki's a marine biologist, Tom," Kat offered "You may have heard of her father, Yves Lefevre?"

Tom's gaze fixed on the young Frenchwoman, widening in awed delight. "Sure I've heard of him. Everyone has. Yves Lefevre is a legend. I'm a huge fan ," he stated sincerely.

"Our Tom has had a fixation with the ocean for as long as we can remember," Miriam Paris advised, shooting her husband a meaningful look that was lost on anyone outside of the immediate Paris family, before turning back to their guest. "Well, considering how important your work is, we're delighted that you could take the time out to share in Kathleen and Joel's special day"

"I wouldn't have missed it for the world," Ricki said, glancing in her friends direction. "My father understands. Besides, it couldn't have been better timed. The Laresa VI is presently docked in Marseilles for repairs and won't be sea worthy again for another month or so. That's if we can get research funding from the GEA for our next expedition."

"Which is?" Tom prompted with genuine interest.

"The Great Barrier Reef," Ricki exclaimed excitedly, half turning in her seat so that she and Tom were practically face to face. She was passionate about her work and delighted in sharing the details with him. "For the first time in nearly 150 years, a research team - led by my father - has been granted permission to explore the reef."

Despite the irreparable devastation caused to much of the planet by global warming in the 20th and 21st centuries, the Great Barrier Reef was still one of the wonders of the natural world and the only living organic collective visible from Earth's orbit.

Ricki took a long sip of wine before continuing. "You may know that the reef - and we're talking about more than 300,000 square kilometers of ocean here - was declared a protected zone by the Global Environment Agency in the late 21st Century. It was their hope that without outside intervention or over-fishing it would eventually regenerate itself. It used to be the habitat of literally thousands of different species of sea life, some of which are now extinct.

"But we're hopeful that we'll be able to document the return of a large number of species and some new ones."

Tom was enthralled by the passion that burned brightly in her beautiful eyes.. His food and the other dinner guests now all but forgotten, a fact that hadn't gone unnoticed by the Admiral, who gave a gruff unsubtle clearing of his throat.

With some effort and an apologetic half-smile for Ricki's benefit, Tom turned reluctantly back to the rest of the group and was drawn immediately into his father's proud boasting to Joel's parents about Tom's recent performance as part of the elite Nova Squadron.

Throughout the rest of the evening, the Admiral seemed determined to distract his son's attention from Richelle Lefrevre, though from time to time he noted the boy's gaze drifting back to the beautiful young Frenchwoman. The mutual attraction and chemistry between the pair was unmistakable and that fact alone filled Owen Paris with a gnawing dread.

* * *

Later, with the meal over the group dispersed; Owen and Miriam Paris, ever the proper hosts had gone off to greet in the other weekend houseguests who were starting to arrive en masse. Joel and his parents had returned to their hotel and Ricki and the other bridesmaids had excused themselves to unpack properly in their guest quarters.

Tom and Kat now cuddled up together under a blanket on one of the old-fashioned porch swings, watching as the sun completed its hazy descent leaving the western sky a stunning blend of deep red and burnished gold in its wake. Another beautiful day was destined to follow this one, which had turned out pretty damn good by Tom's reckoning.

He sighed as Kat's fingers carded gently through his short strands of hair. _Ah bliss_!

"You kept _her _a secret," came his drowsy voice after a while. Kat grinned, knowing exactly who her brother was referring to.

"Actually, I've known Ricki since college. We were roommates. I'm sure I've mentioned her before,." she teased.

"Nuh uh. Believe me, I'd definitely have remembered_."_

A comfortable silence followed between the pair, broken a short time later when Kat decided to broach a more sensitive topic.

"How have things been?"

Tom knew straight away that she was asking about their father.

"Oh, same old, same old.," came the weary response, but the sudden tension in his body gave away his true feelings. Kat was more than a little sorry that she'd spent so much time away from her family of late, but trying to juggle her burgeoning work load at the medical center and her relationship with Joel had been her main priority. Now she felt guilty for neglecting Tom, knowing that she was his main confidant when times were hard.

She nudged him playfully. "I want the truth, squirt."

Tom let out a long suffering sigh. "It's the usual stuff, ya know. Nothing I can do…_ever_…will make him happy, Kat. My grades aren't good enough. My attitude sucks. I'm spending too much time socializing and not enough time studying . And it doesn't help any that a lot of his old cronies are my tutors. If I'm a little late for class or have a hair out of place then they report straight back to the Admiral."

"It's tough, huh?"

Tom shrugged and gave her a devilish grin. "Nah. Probably no more than any Fleet brat, whose father happens to be a high-ranking, overbearing control freak."


	3. Chapter 3

_**BLOODLINE**_

**Chapter 2**

"Mind if I cut in?" came the voice of her savior as Ricki was smoothly extricated from the grip of the odious little Bolian senator. The man didn't look happy at all to loose his lovely dance partner, and bristled further when Tom gave him a wink as he expertly twirled the young Frenchwoman away.

"Thank you," she sighed with relief, leaning her head into his shoulder as Tom guided them smoothly to the other side of the dance floor in the huge marquee, moving to the strains of a vaguely familiar 20th Century romantic classic being played by the orchestra. "That man has hands like an octopus."

Tom grinned. "I would've got to you sooner, but I was having problems of my own." He was referring to the tortuous time he'd spent caught up in one mind-bogglingly boring conversation after another with his father and his cronies, or being not-so-discreetly groped on the dance floor by the middle-aged sex-starved wives of the Starfleet brass.

With another few elegantly executed moves, Tom maneuvered them outside and onto the terrace - candle lit now as dusk approached. Ricki paused a moment to take in the breathtaking view of San Francisco Bay, while Tom snagged two glasses and a bottle of champagne from a passing waiter.

Quite a few of the other wedding guests had ventured outside on this balmy evening, though there was still a sizeable crowd inside the marquee.

Ricki took a sip of her champagne "Wasn't it a beautiful wedding," she remarked conversationally as Tom led the way across the terrace to a ornamental pergola situated in a slightly more secluded part of the garden.

"Sure was," came his soft response as they settled side by side on the wooden bench. Tom gave them both a refill, before placing the bottle on the ground at their feet. Then he gently bumped glasses with Ricki's. "Here's to Kat and Joel."

Later, neither of them could recall with any certainty who exactly made that first move, but suddenly they were kissing, their lips brushing - tentatively at first; just tasting, tongues exploring - but then the kiss intensifying to a point where they were both almost lost in each other's essence. Their raging chemistry an undeniable thing. Tom's hands moved up and down the slender form, while one of Ricki's hands snaked behind his neck, trying to deepen the contact if that was at all possible.

"Thomas!"

It was Admiral Paris's harsh commanding tone from somewhere across the garden that finally broke the spell, the two young people pulling apart reluctantly. For a moment or two all they could do was stare dazedly at each other as they tried to steady their breathing.

"Thomas!" the voice snapped impatiently once again, getting closer now. "You have exactly one minute to get your butt out here."

"The old man always did have an impeccable sense of timing," Tom snorted with amusement as he stood up and held out his hand to gallantly pull Ricki to her feet and into his arms. "Ah well, duty calls."

More than a month later Tom and Ricki were pretty much an established couple, though trying to find quality time to spend together had been a major stumbling block.

Ricki was pretty much a free agent until she got word to join her father in Australia. Though the Laresa VI was now docked in Cairns, the expedition couldn't get fully underway until the GEA funding was formally approved, though that was just a matter of time now.

But Tom's circumstances were entirely different. Not only did he have his Starfleet Academy duties to contend with, but the developing relationship hadn't gone unnoticed by Admiral Paris who had made a number of unsubtle attempts to stop him from seeing Ricki. At first Tom reveled in his father's blatant disapproval and was even vaguely amused, but as time wore on and his feelings for the young woman deepened he grew seriously weary of the 'game'.

Even in such a relatively short space of time Tom had realized how important Ricki was to him, and knew that if he wanted to hold onto her or any dreams for a possible future together then he needed to make a stand against the old man.

And a golden opportunity was offered to him on one of the visits with Ricki to see her father, Yves Lefevre, in Marseilles before the Laresa VI disembarked.

Tom and Yves had hit it off right from the start, with the big easy-going Frenchman warming to the younger man's charm, enthusiasm and obvious devotion to his only daughter. It was Yves who actively encouraged the Starfleet cadet to test pilot one of the Laresa's state-of-the-art submersibles; a slick stream-lined vessel nick-named 'Fifi', after one of his many girlfriends - or so Yves claimed

A natural and gifted pilot, it took Tom no time at all to master the controls and he was soon putting the 'sub' through _her_ paces out at sea. Though designed by Yves primarily to operate underwater, _Fifi_ was also just as effective in the air as Tom demonstrated when he launched into the clear blue sky in a wide arc, giving Yves, Ricki and the watching crew an improvised aerobatics display - much to their awed delight - before taking the craft down and gracefully diving into the depths of the ocean.

Yves was there to greet him enthusiastically when he eventually - and reluctantly - brought _Fifi _back to her docking bay. Looping his arm around the young man's shoulders as he started walking with him across the upper deck.

"Tom my boy, I have a little proposition for you."


	4. Chapter 4

_**BLOODLINE**_

**Chapter 3 **

Tom fidgeted yet again and then stilled automatically when he sensed his father's displeasure. It wasn't much of a gesture, just an almost imperceptible stiffening of his large frame, but then the Admiral didn't have to utter a single word or make eye contact for a member of the Paris family, or one of his personal staff at Starfleet Command to recognize the warning signs.

Owen Paris was taking his own sweet time scrolling through the contents of the data padd, and with mounting unease Tom realized that his father was deliberately stalling, drawing out the tension as always, prolonging the misery. It was a game he played well and often.

The facts were all there right in front of him. Tom had done all the research and even had some professional input from Yves Lefevre and glowing endorsements from a couple of his favorite tutors at the Academy. All he needed now was the Admiral's approval and the summer was his…one last chance before graduation from Starfleet Academy, for a tantalizing glimpse at what under different circumstances could very well have been the path he might have chosen for himself.

After another almost tortuous stretch of time the Admiral tossed the padd on to his desk dismissively, barely glancing up at his son before speaking..

"The answer is _no_ Thomas. It's out of the question," he advised brusquely. Never one to stand on ceremony or skirt round the issues.

Not even trying to hide his shock and disappointment, Tom wavered for a moment under the glare of those piercing gray-blue eyes that just dared him to question the mighty Admiral's decision. Only for a moment though. He'd spent too many years doing exactly what he was told , never really wanting something enough to go up against the old man and fight for it…until now.

"But it's just _one _summer, Dad," he started cautiously, keen not to sound whiney. He gestured at the discarded data padd. "You read the report from Commander T'Elko. He says that if anything the experience of piloting the submersibles will enhance my flying skills and can actually go on my Academy grades."

"What part of '_no_' don't you understand…_exactly_? " came the snapped rebuttal. " I have my own plans for you this summer, which don't entail you getting your stupid ass wet or allowing you to follow that little French bitch half-way across the globe like some targ on heat." The Admiral gave a derisive snort before continuing. "You have important exams coming up and a graduation next year, or have you conveniently forgotten that little fact!"

Pure desperation and the first stirrings of real anger spurred Tom on now and he was up and out of his chair, facing down his father. "And I swear to you, I'll study hard and pass every damn one of them and graduate like a good obedient little Paris if you just cut me loose and let me do this one thing… for myself."

"Who do you think you're talking to, boy?" came the growled warning. The Admiral slowly and deliberately pushed himself to his feet, his eyes blazing.

Undeterred and exasperated by his father's show of alpha dominance, Tom wasn't about to give an inch. "Okay, so what plans, huh?" he spat out, squaring up to confront the elder Paris. "Hmm, lemme guess. Another frickin' survival course? Where to this time, Dad? The Antarctic? An Amazonian rainforest, or maybe a desert wasteland on some distant godforsaken shit hole planetoid?. Well, been there, seen it, done that. Story of my whole sorry fucking existence…"

Blinded by frustration and anger, Tom was only vaguely aware of his father moving from behind his desk until, with a speed surprising for such a big man, he was all over his son in seconds - backhanding him savagely. The heavy blow caught Tom on the left side of his face and sent him reeling across the room, to crash into one of the floor to ceiling antique oak bookcases that lined the walls of the study.

Although the same height as his father and with a lean frame toned to perfection by the demanding academy fitness regime, bitter experience had taught Tom that he was no match for the stockier heavily-muscled admiral, so self-preservation instincts took hold as he tried to scramble away from the man. But before he could get very far, Owen Paris leaned down to grab a handful of the boys sweater, hauling him unceremoniously to his feet and holding him upright, their faces just inches apart.

"Don't you ever…ever…use profanity in my house again. Do you understand?" he shook his son violently. "And you should know by now that I won't tolerate insolence or disobedience."

Without waiting for a response, the Admiral shoved Tom painfully hard against the bookshelves and then released his grip, watching dispassionately as the youngster sagged to his knees.

"Do you understand, boy?"

This time he was rewarded by a slight nod of a blond head and a whispered. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He reached down to grasp Tom's jaw, tilting his head this way and that to study his handiwork; a split lip and a nasty bruise already forming across his cheekbone. "Now get out of my sight and clean yourself up," he ordered calmly. "We can't have your mother seeing you in this state can we."

Tom nodded, reaching out a shaking hand and using the shelves of the bookcase as leverage to climb unsteadily to his feet. He then moved slowly to the door, an arm folded across his chest to protect ribs that he thought might actually be cracked.

"Oh , and Thomas."

Tom halted and turned to his father with a sense of dread. The man was tidying his desk almost as if nothing had happened. He spoke without looking up.

"Have your gear packed and be ready to leave by midday tomorrow. You're shipping out to DS6," his hard tone brooked no argument. "You've been temporarily assigned to the USS Exeter. It's a huge honor." Owen Paris sounded very pleased with himself. "Think how _that's_ going to look on your record," He paused briefly to allow the good news to sink in. Inordinately satisfied as he studied the forlorn figure hovering in the doorway.

"Don't let me down, boy."

Feeling suffocated by this man and his obsessive need to dominate every part of his life and this blatant attempt to separate him from Ricki once again, Tom fought the overwhelming urge to bolt right there and then, to get as far away from this life as possible. Instead, he took a deep controlling breath and nodded again, before saying the only thing that was really required of him at that moment.

"No sir, I won't."

* * *

In the early hours of the morning, Tom moved quickly around his room. Grabbing items of clothing, toiletries and a couple of data padds and cramming them into his backpack. He left a quick encrypted message for his mother - with a time-delayed transmission - on her personal comm, explaining his actions as best he could. She was bound to be worried and upset and he deeply regretted that, but even if she understood, he knew the same definitely wouldn't apply to his father. All hell would break loose the moment Tom's absence was discovered and the man would move heaven and hell to find him and bring him back. No-one went against the Admiral's orders - ever!.

Which was why Tom hoped to put as much distance between himself, San Francisco and Starfleet as humanly possible in the next few crucial hours. It wouldn't take someone with Vulcan logic to work out exactly where he was headed or his intentions, but at least he would have a head start.


	5. Chapter 5

_**BLOODLINE**_

**Chapter 4**

"The Laresa IV disembarked early this morning, sir," Admiral Paris's aide, a thin pasty-faced lieutenant advised efficiently from the other end of the comm link. "We have every reason to believe that your son transported to Cairns before dawn local time and was on board when the vessel left port.

Owen stared stonily at the view screen for a long time before responding. When he did his voice was clipped and emotionless, barely concealing his acute anger. How could the boy do this? He'd been granted privileges and opportunities that most could only dream about, and yet he'd cast it all carelessly aside for some reckless adventure with that Lefevre girl.

"I want the boat intercepted and my son returned _ASAP, _is that clear lieutenant?"

The young officer cleared his throat nervously. "Uh, well sir, that might be a little… difficult." He paused briefly to check the Admiral's reaction, then wished he hadn't.

"It's a civilian vessel, Admiral, on an official GEA expedition," he continued quickly wanting to get it over with. "Starfleet have no jurisdiction."

That definitely got a reaction as Owens fist pounded down heavily onto his desk. "To hell with that," the older man spat furiously "Connect me to Senator Patello, she's on the GEA board."

He'd recently helped the vile woman secure a place at the academy for her idiot nephew. Now it was time to call in the favor.

"We'll soon see about jurisdiction…"

"Owen!"

So distracted was he at that moment, fuelled by an overwhelming blinding rage and sense of betrayal, that he wasn't immediately aware that Miriam had entered his study until her soft voice calling his name for the second time cut across his tirade.

"Owen, don't."

He had no idea how long she had been standing there, what she had heard, but the disconsolate look on her beautiful face spoke volumes. Not for a second did he consider that he might be partially responsible for his wife's troubled state. _That_ honor was all Thomas's as far as he was concerned, and he would make damned sure the boy suffered the consequences for causing his mother such distress.

Miriam moved from the shadows to his side, laying a hand on his arm.

"Leave him be Owen, let Tom have his summer."

Owen stared incredulously into the face of the woman he had loved unconditionally for more than thirty years. When he had regained a level of composure he turned quickly back to the comm "Stand by for further orders, lieutenant," he snapped, pausing the link with a sharp jab of his finger. The screen reverted instantly to a Starfleet logo.

"Miriam…" he began, rising from his chair to face her properly. His large frame almost dwarfed her slender one, but she stood her ground.

"I'm just asking you to trust him, this once," she urged. The ghost of a smile touched her lovely face and lit her blue eyes. "He's a lot like you, you know." her tone was almost teasing. "Brave, loyal, spirited… "

"Wild, impulsive…" Owen cut in.

"Which are the same qualities that first attracted me to you all those years ago," she countered.

"…headstrong, disobedient," Owen added caustically.

Miriam Paris sighed, shaking her head sadly. "And that's what this is really all about, isn't it? Disobedience. For probably the first time in his life our son has made a stand for something…someone… that's truly important to him. But by doing that he's undermined the authority of the mighty Admiral Owen Paris."

"This is not just about Richelle Lefevre," he snapped out. "There's more at stake here than you realize, Miriam." His large hands gripped her shoulders as his gaze burned into hers. "Thomas has gone AWOL, he could be in serious trouble…"

"No he hasn't." She pulled out of his grasp and took a few steps away from him.

"What?" he rasped out, not sure he'd heard correctly.

"Starfleet Academy only requires the consent of two senior officers for the release of a cadet during summer break " Miriam squared her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly, in a move eerily reminiscent of her son. "He already had authorization from Commander T'Elko…and I got an old friend of mine to second it. Tom is now officially on leave."

Admiral Paris stared blankly at his wife, before sinking back down into his chair. Not quite the reaction she anticipated, but better than the she could have hoped for under the circumstances. Miriam headed for the door which opened soundlessly at her approach. Just before she exited, she turned to her husband once more.

"Leave him be just this once Owen, let him find his own path. Otherwise we could lose him for good."

For some time after his wife had left the room, Owen Paris sat in quiet contemplation. Mulling over her words; wondering what he had done to so distance himself from his own family. A small part of him knew she was right;; knew he pushed the boy too hard at times and was then surprised when he occasionally showed some grit and pushed back. But another more dominant - uncompromising - part of his psyche couldn't quite come to terms with this reasoning and bitterly resented these acts of disloyalty from both his son…and now his wife.

Dismissing his own misgivings, Owen leaned forward and tapped the key pad of the comm link once more. "Connect me to Senator Patello!"


End file.
